


The 'and' in Between

by Shush7



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, some Elio/Oliver as well, some smut, this is by far the sappiest thing i've written, with BEAUTIFUL accompanying art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21900955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shush7/pseuds/Shush7
Summary: “It’s June 7th.The heat sticks to their skin; it’s humid, even the ground is scorching hot. It’s like they never left, a part of them seems to believe. That instead they stayed as Elio, stayed as Oliver. Simply continued where they had left off.Timmy is wearing all white.”Years after CMBYN is filmed, Timmy and Armie return to Crema to get married – that’s where everything started, after all. As the lines between past and present fade more with the passing of each day, will they be able to hold on to their reality and each other?Snippets of our boys' days at the villa.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 52
Kudos: 114
Collections: CMBYN Big Bang 2019





	The 'and' in Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [call_me_by_charmie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_by_charmie/gifts).



> Me and the wonderful @call_me_by_charmie (Ao3; call-me-by-charmie on tumblr) collaborated on this fic and illustration combo for the CMBYN Big Bang Challenge. She created a beautiful piece of art (see below) to accompany my fic and it was a true pleasure working with her. Please give her ALL the love!
> 
> Just a few more comments and then I'll let you all get to the good stuff!
> 
> The theme I chose for the Big Bang was "Firsts" but I honestly can’t say I stuck to it perfectly. However, I do have to say I have been working on this piece for quite a long time now (despite my ongoing writer's block) and I truly, truly hope you enjoy it :). If you do, your comments are always very welcome! Even left a few Easter eggs for those of you who have read the book ;).
> 
> Please note that for better readability, directly linked scenes are separated with *, whereas clearly separate snippets are separated with ***.
> 
> And last but not least, I would like to thank my amazing wife @tpmbouquins (Ao3; alittlefrenchtree on tumblr) for giving me feedback on my work and for exchanging thoughts and ideas with me, and the lovely @onlyastoryteller (Ao3 and tumblr) for reading over the final draft (and for crying in the salon, which gave me great confidence, haha). If you haven't read their works, please do so because both of these writers are absolutely incredible!

They get married at the villa.

“I will take care of it,” said Luca, Italian accent dripping from his voice when Armie had called him two months prior. Armie could hear the smile in Luca’s voice then, could almost see his eyes crinkle with happiness.

“I can’t thank you enough,” and perhaps his voice sounded wet, strained, because he truly had meant it. He could never thank Luca enough. For this, too, but especially for picking him, seeing something in him that no one had before. And no one had since, except for-

_And for picking Timmy. Especially for picking Timmy._

And Luca does take care of it, because on June 6th, the villa is exactly like Armie and Timmy remember it, save for the little wooden wedding arch in the back yard and about 30 chairs neatly arranged in three rows.

“Will you hit your head against it when you stand straight?” Timmy chirps next to Armie when they arrive, overcaffeinated and pointing at the altar.

“But you don’t stand _straight_ anymore, do you?” he continues enthusiastically and Armie rolls his eyes so hard they might actually fall out. Prepares to shove Timmy into a nearby bush, already envisioning him falling over like an animated twig, but when he finally turns to him, Timmy is fucking _beaming_.

Smiling so hard that Armie can see all of his teeth. Smiling so hard that Armie can see his little nose crinkle in the sunlight. Smiling so hard that it makes Armie’s chest tight, so he simply squeezes Timmy’s shoulder and says, “Yeah.”

***

It’s June 7th. 

The heat sticks to their skin; it’s humid, even the ground is scorching hot. It’s like they never left, a part of them seems to believe. That instead they stayed as Elio, stayed as Oliver. Simply continued where they had left off.

Timmy is wearing all white.

“Like a virgin,” he whispers into Armie's ear during the intermission, eyes glimmering with mischief, and Armie almost comes in his tailored suit pants.

But before that, the _first_ moment Armie sees Timmy in his white suit, fumbling with the cuffs, straightening his jacket, Armie just _looks_. Looks at the boy, the _man_ that stands before him. He’s made of light, Armie thinks, pure and precious. Yet Armie knows of the depth that lies within him, of his worries and fears, of his darkness, too. He knows all of him. Timmy showed him everything, he realizes.

And his heart feels full; with every step Timmy takes in his direction his heart feels fuller still. His love for Timmy is unparalleled, he realizes. He loves him with his heart, his soul, his mind, and even more, he _loves himself_ because of how Timmy loves him. If Timmy loves him, _and he does_ , then there simply must be something in him that is even a fraction as beautiful as Timmy is.

That is enough to love anyone.

When Timmy stops in front of Armie, he pushes back his dark curls with shaky fingers. They’re alone for now, a quiet moment before the ceremony starts. Timmy looks up, a smile painted on his face, yet Armie _knows._ Knows that Timmy worries – from how he fiddles with his bracelets under the suit jacket, from how he breathes, from how he _is_.

He pulls at Timmy’s hair softly, places a kiss on his forehead and whispers, “It’s just you. It’s just me. It’s just us. Everyone else, everything else is merely background noise.” 

Timmy wraps his hands around Armie’s waist, hugs him close. Shakes his head and whispers, “I’m silly.”

“Just the perfect amount,” Armie whispers back.

*

They don’t exchange vows. Not at the ceremony, not in front of others. Their vows are for them alone – to be whispered in the dark, bodies tangled in between the sheets, the rhythmic thump of the bed against the wall the only music they desire.

Later, after the promises made, the promises kissed into their skin, they speak of dreams. They speak of worries, of fears. They speak of hope.

All of it is for them alone.

*

“Now you're mine,” Timmy says, squeezes Armie's hand under the table at dinner.

“I was always yours,” Armie replies. Although he really wasn’t; they don’t speak of it anymore, it doesn't make them proud, the way all of it happened.

Timmy just adds, “Legally.”

Nick gives a nice speech. At least that’s what Armie is told later. Armie doesn’t hear it himself, can’t hear it. He’s too focused on looking at _his_ Timmy next to him, precious and beautiful, and the happiest he’s ever seen him. Armie barely registers anything else at all.

They ask everyone to leave by, well–

 _Midnight._ Meet on the balcony, only the moon witness to them.

“Are you nervous?” Timmy asks this time around, smiling. The memories flooding them. Love flooding them.

“When am I not,” Armie replies.

Timmy hits him playfully in the arm, “Hey, that’s definitely my line.”

“But you already stole mine.”

“No, I didn't,” Timmy’s voice suddenly sounds just a little wet, a little raspy as he moves closer to Armie, looks up at him from behind long lashes, “because you’re not Oliver.”

“And you're not Elio,” Armie whispers, fingertips dancing on Timmy's cheek, his jaw, neck.

"No, we're not," Timmy whispers back, lips ghosting over Armie's, and pushes his hands under Armie's suit jacket, seeking warmth.

_Because they didn't spend 20 years pining. They spent only 5 and that was enough for a lifetime, more than enough._

And they don't say it because it seems silly, but perhaps in a way this, the two of them here now, getting married at the villa gives Elio and Oliver a happy ending, too. Because they will never forget that it was Elio and Oliver that gave them theirs. 

Without them, there could never be _Timmy and Armie_. It would just be Timmy, would just be Armie. With no _“and”_ in between.

Timmy lifts Armie’s hand up to his lips, presses soft kisses on the tips of his fingers, mouths at his wedding ring before smiling deviously. He lets his teeth drag over the skin of Armie’s finger, delicately, with just enough pressure to dislodge his wedding ring and suck it into his mouth.

He rises to his tippy toes then, kisses Armie with teeth and tongue, pushes the ring into Armie’s mouth. Pulls off to say, “Fuck me, husband.”

Armie almost swallows the ring. 

*

Armie wants to make love because he almost didn’t have this, almost didn’t. It's slow, patient, tongue and fingers in Timmy's hole, Timmy gripping the sheets, soft sobs echoing off the walls of the villa. They're in Elio's room, in what would've been Elio's bed because how could they not – it was that very same bed where they had once given in; where, lying side by side after filming, Armie had forgotten he was no longer Oliver and reached for Timmy. They’d kissed, soft and slow, under the guise of _acting_ , _it’s all for acting_ , but their hesitance had betrayed them both – what Oliver and Elio were way past, they were merely beginning.

Armie pushes into Timmy slowly after an hour of foreplay, after an hour of kissing him everywhere, making every inch feel loved, cherished. After claiming Timmy’s body as his, with soft touches and feather-light caresses. Each of them depicting a thank you. Each of them depicting a promise.

 _Timmy just wants to fuck._ Clings to Armie, wraps his long legs around Armie's waist, claws at his back. 

"Ruin me. Fuck me like you mean it, husband," and the way words roll off his pink little tongue makes Armie's hips snap forward in a punishing rhythm. Makes him pin Timmy’s wrists above his head, makes him take Timmy apart. Because he wants to give Timmy this, wants to give him _everything_.

Always has. Always will.

***

The next morning, Timmy makes pancakes.

"Wow," says Armie, grimaces while chewing on one, "these are exceptionally bad."

"Shut up, you know I don't know how to cook. I just wanted something nice."

"This is so far from nice," Armie cringes and Timmy throws his hands in the air in a dramatic gesture.

"I have a better idea for breakfast, though," Armie says, licks his lips. Picks Timmy up by his waist, throws him over his shoulder and grabs the maple syrup.

He carries Timmy upstairs, lays him on the bed, yanks off his t-shirt and shorts, says, "Spread your legs for me, baby, hold yourself open." Timmy whimpers, does as he's told. Rolls onto his tummy, pale skinny fingers gripping his little peach.

"Are you sore from last night?" Armie runs a finger over his pink hole. Timmy nods, rubs his cock against the sheets, says, "I still want to."

"I know you do," Armie's voice rough as he uncaps the syrup, drizzles it over Timmy's cheeks, drizzles it where Timmy's holding himself open. Pushes a finger in.

"Armieee,” Timmy breathes hot against the pillow, “syrup is not-"

"Lube?" Armie finishes, "Oh, is it not?" Feigns surprise.

"I'm terribly sorry, here, let me get that for you," he adds before licking into Timmy until he's no longer sticky. _At least not there._

***

Their days at the villa blend together and it’s all Armie could’ve ever wanted. It’s no longer an exception to have Timmy with him, to wake up to Timmy’s mop of dark hair blocking his field of vision, to hear his voice first thing in the morning, the last thing at night. It’s domestic, blissful and peaceful. Or, as peaceful as anything ever can be with Timmy.

“You really need to stop fidgeting. It’s 4 am.”

“’m trying,” Timmy huffs, stretches his legs, fluffs his pillow for the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

“I can’t see you trying.”

“You may wanna invest in some glasses then,” Timmy replies bitterly, buries his face into the pillow.

Armie rubs sleep out of his eyes, turns to the boy curled up next to him before raising his hand to stroke his hair. “Hey,” he whispers, “I’m sorry, Timmy. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing, huh?” Armie smiles affectionately, wraps his hand gently around Timmy’s waist and turns Timmy to face him.

“It’s stupid.”

“It never is.”

Finally, Timmy looks up, green eyes worried. He licks his lips and takes in a deep, decisive breath. “Everything is so good. I have everything that I wanted– everything, even– even the things I didn’t know to want. _I have you. God, I can’t believe I have you._ And–,” Timmy’s voice breaks just as he looks down again.

Armie lifts his chin back up with the tips of his fingers, “It’s okay, baby. And?”

Timmy doesn’t say anything for a minute; when he does, his voice is wet. “And I deserve none of it. It’s only– it’s only a question of time before I lose something, lose– and I don’t– _no-one gets everything_.”

“I love you,” Armie says, pulling Timmy into him, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle, “and if anyone in this world deserves everything, then it’s you. Nothing came easily to you, Tim. And if something does happen, I’ll be right here, we’ll tackle it together. You’re stuck with me, so better get used to it because I’m not going anywhere. Ever. _For better, for worse – remember?”_

Armie feels Timmy’s tears on his neck, on his shoulder, chest. His small body is shaking from the crying, so Armie pets his hair, kisses his earlobe. Whispers, “You can be the stormiest sea, Timmy, but even your deepest worries won’t sink me. My love’s not conditional.”

He expects a witty reply, a “What are you now – Shakespeare?”, because that would be _them._ But then again, holding each other in the darkness, being a mess of tears, of emotions can also be them.

***

“Could you read me this?”

Timmy throws Armie a book from across the room, catching him by surprise and hitting him on the head with it.

“Ow! We’ve been married for, what, 3 days, and you’re already trying to kill me?”

“It’s 5 days. Also, reaad itt,” Timmy whines, climbing into Armie’s lap a second later and pushing his cold fingers under Armie’s shirt.

“God, how can you possibly be cold in this weather? It’s over 90 degrees.”

“Got too used to my personal heater, I guess,” Timmy shrugs, stretching his legs, toes in Armie’s lap.

“Is that all I am to you?”

“No, you’re also my personal book reader,” Timmy’s voice sounds muffled, face already pressed against Armie’s chest.

Armie leans down to kiss his hair and, smiling to himself, opens the book – _Heptameron_ by Marguerite de Navarre.

*

They wake up hours later when it’s already dark, with limbs soft and pliant, tangled much like their lives are now. As Armie blinks his eyes open, he can barely make out the shapes in the room. He tries, _tries_ rubbing sleep out of his eyes just as he feels Timmy shift, turn his head to look at him.

“You’re not my Oliver,” a small voice whispers, hurt and afraid.

The boy looking up at him is no Timmy – he is, but not _his Timmy._ Instead it’s Timmy from years ago, still boyish, with features softer than they were ever allowed to be, with the curls framing his face still short, much shorter than Armie ever remembers them being.

It’s the Timmy he first kissed, it’s the Timmy he first fell in love with, and it’s the Timmy that was never truly his.

“Where’s my Oliver?” The boy asks, green eyes looking right through Armie, searching. _Searching for Oliver._

“Are you Elio?” he wants to ask just as the boy reaches up to touch his face, the line of his jaw, the crinkles by his eyes.

“You’re not my Oliver. I’d recognise him by the sliver of his hair, the curve of his mouth, the way his body moulds against mine.”

The boy drops his hand to cover his eyes, finally looking away.

“What did you do with my Oliver? He’d never leave me here. Not for so long.”

Armie opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know _what._ His throat feels tight as he hears the boy, _Timmy_ sob softly, as he sees his fragile frame shake from the pain of it all.

_“Armie?”_

He feels heavy, drowning in helplessness and dread, _suffocating_.

 _“Armie?”_ He hears a soft, worried voice carry from somewhere in the distance, trying to break through the dark fog in his brain.

“Armie?” The voice becomes clear just as he feels two cold hands gripping his cheeks. He opens his eyes to see another pair of emerald greens looking back at him; at least this time they’re not looking through him.

“It was a dream, Armie, it’s okay.”

The boy in front of him looks like Timmy, _his Timmy_ , with his jawline more defined, his hair longer and unruly, _yet Armie can’t be sure_. The room seems blurry, yet he knows it’s Elio’s, the bed is Elio’s.

“I’m sorry I left you,” he croaks.

“Shh,” the boy whispers, lips trembling. Armie’s body feels hollow as the boy’s mouth presses against his own. It’s familiar, pillow-soft and desperate, but is the familiarity with the past or present?

Having Timmy seems more and more like a dream.

“Are you my Elio?” Armie whispers against the boy’s lips, drifting between the two dimensions, unable to grasp where one begins and the other ends.

There are fingers in his hair, then, gently pulling his head up. “Armie, no. I’m your _Timmy._ And you’re my _Armie_. There’s no Elio. There’s no Oliver. It’s just us. Me and you. You didn’t leave me. You’d never leave me.”

And although Armie doesn’t yet trust himself, doesn’t yet see clearly, he’d trust his life with Timmy, so he nods, accepts Timmy’s truth as his own, whether it’s reality or a mere dream. As long as Timmy’s there, it doesn’t even matter which.

*

When Armie wakes up in the early morning light hours later, he can see all the shapes in the room. Suddenly, everything is clear. With his heart viciously beating in his chest, he reaches for _his_ Timmy, kisses _his_ Timmy, if only to forget how the boy looked at him, his longing eyes still the only thing Armie can see when he closes his own.

He kisses to forget there was ever a reality where he and Timmy could’ve ended up the same, mere hollow shells existing in the vast universe, always looking, looking but never finding.

He also kisses to remember – that this, here and now, is real.

***

Armie’s dream shakes them both more than they’d like to admit, even to each other. Although several days have passed, Armie still grabs Timmy’s wrist too tightly when he tries to leave the room, looks at Timmy as if he might evaporate into thin air. He’s hesitant in a way he hasn’t been in years, distant in a way he’s never been with Timmy.

“I’m just going to get some juice, okay?” Timmy says softly, touches Armie’s cheek as the man nods.

“I’m sorry, I’m being– _sorry_.”

Timmy understands – he’s afraid, too, of how Armie is there, but hasn’t been there at all. Of how blurred the lines have become. _This was always too good to be true._

They've been treading water, it feels like. Timmy thought they'd be all in by now, no hesitations, and definitely no regrets. _Did they grow together just to grow apart?_ The thought makes his heart ache.

Just as he turns to leave, Armie mutters something under his breath.

“Maybe this was a mistake.”

Timmy freezes on the spot as his heart jumps to his throat. He'd been waiting for the something or other to drop. _You can’t have everything, see? No-one can._

“Marrying me?” His voice sounds faint, even to his own ears.

“No,” Armie stands up so quickly it feels like getting whiplash, “no, not marrying you, no, Timmy.” He grabs at his thin arms, pulls Timmy against him.

“I meant coming here. God, not marrying you. Marrying you was the best damn decision I’ve ever made in my miserable life. Coming here, maybe that was– maybe that was the mistake.”

Timmy exhales visibly but says nothing, stays small and silent in Armie’s embrace.

A moment passes before Armie continues, “Sometimes I don’t know how not to be Oliver. When I’m with you, I don’t–“ his voice cracks, “I don’t want to be him. But I'm terrified, absolutely terrified of making the same mistakes he did. There's so much of me in him, or him in me. That's why Luca chose me, Timmy, he knew. He knew I'd make a good Oliver because he saw that I already was."

"I think you're gonna squeeze me to death, Armie," Timmy squeaks quietly and wiggles a little for space.

"Oh, God, sorry, I'm s–" Armie releases Timmy from his hold and steps away. Before he can get too far, Timmy reaches for him.

"Stop saying you're sorry," he says softly, "stop apologizing for having emotions and feelings and being human. Please don't shut me out like that. I was–, " he sighs, "I was worried sick. I didn't know what you were thinking or–"

Timmy bites down on his lower lip and shakes his head. "You're not Oliver, Armie. He was a fleeting summer dream, a lifelong sorrow, a beautiful but painful memory of what could've been but never was. But you – you're here now, aren't you? You didn't leave me, Armie. You stayed and I know that you know it wasn't an easy choice. There may have been some Oliver in you back when Luca cast us, but you grew into him because you had to, for the role. And then you grew out of him, past him because you're nothing like him now. You're mine in a way Oliver never was Elio's. And I'm yours – in a way Elio never was Oliver's, and in a way I've never been anyone's before."

Armie blinks three, four times, looks down and swallows before looking back up, clearly gathering himself. “I’ve never been anyone else’s like I’m yours now, Timmy.”

“Yeah?” Timmy’s voice sounds raspy and he, too, feels the need to blink a lot.

“Yeah,” Armie squeezes his hand, “and I know I was married before, that’s– _fuck the marriage, Timmy._ That’s just a formality. I’ve never had what we have, not even close. There’s so much uncertainty in the world, there’s constant chaos inside my mind and outside of it, and we’re always rushing everywhere as humans, it’s a race against time, against each other, but with you the chaos stops. It just stops. And despite all the uncertainty in this damn world I’m absolutely fucking sure about you. You’re my forever, Timmy.”

“A Forever Timmy,” the boy rubs his red-rimmed eyes with the back of his hand, licks his lips, “I like that.”

***

It's already dark outside, the only light emanating from a multitude of tiny lamps in the garden left over from the ceremony a week ago. The evening air is unforgiving in its humidity and an empty bottle of Rosé, once full of icy nectar, stands forgotten by the table.

"I don't remember it being this hot, like ever," Timmy mouths against Armie's shoulder, a little sloppy and wine-drunk.

"In here or in general? Because honestly, have you never been to Texas? And I know you have, so don't try to claim this could even compare."

Timmy chuckles. "Yeah, yeah, fair. In here, though, it's a first. It never was this hot when we filmed."

"Thank God. Otherwise we would've been slippery like seals on camera and no-one wants to see that. I repeat, no one. Could've ended up with major injuries as well – you quite literally sliding off me, landing ungracefully on the floor or elsewhere."

Timmy is laughing so hard he's wheezing. Armie squeezes his body against his own and smiles into his hair, pleased.

Once his laughter has died down, Timmy says, thoughtfully, "Not many firsts for us here, are there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this excruciating heat is a first for _us_ here, but so much that we've experienced, it's been Elio and Oliver, you know? Our first kiss was their first kiss, when I still knew more about Oliver than I did about you, Armie."

"Did you forget that we got married here? Just a few days ago? Just us two?" Armie teases gently.

"But doesn’t it feel like a continuation of their lives, too?"

"Wasn't that one of the reasons we wanted to come here?” He smiles sadly. “It all started here, for them, for us. If it wasn't for Call Me by Your Name, we wouldn't even be here. It’s both an anchor weighing us down and a blessing.”

“I sense a but coming.”

“You _always_ sense a but coming.”

“It’s just because your butt is so hu–“

 _“Hey!_ ” Armie’s smiling with all of his teeth showing. “What I was gonna say and what I’ve been thinking about a lot here is that just because a part of our history is tangled with theirs doesn't mean our present has to be, doesn't mean our future will be. Coming here, it's just– an homage to them, I guess? A nod in their direction, an acknowledgement and a thank you. Doesn't mean we're not our own people. Doesn't mean we didn't have our first kiss, and so what if we kissed as Elio and Oliver before that? I still knew exactly when I kissed you for the first time, as myself."

“Do you mean the time in Elio’s bed? After the take?”

“Yeah,” Armie chuckles, “I guess that was technically the first time. I wanted to kiss you then, as myself, but I feel like I still kissed you as Oliver. I was pretending to be someone else, trying to find excuses and reasons to have you, hold you, but without revealing too much about myself. What I really consider our _first kiss_ is the first time I truly kissed _you_ , unapologetic, and neither of us was pretending.”

"Can you tell me?" Timmy asks, voice small.

"I think you know," Armie winks at him.

"Tell me anyway? Please?"

"Remember that day we walked to our apartments from Luca's? It had been raining for hours and we were hoping it'd pass, but it seemed like it never would, so we finally stepped into the pouring rain, didn't even bother with an umbrella. We were soaked to the bone immediately, and you were shivering the whole way. I would've offered you any of my clothes, but they were all dripping. When we got to the house, I asked you in, offered to make tea, and god, you were such a trembling little thing. I wrapped you in that blanket, remember? And your curls were all plastered to your cheeks and forehead, even your nose was a little red - whose nose gets red from _cold_ in Italy in the summer? Only yours, Timmy - truly, only yours. And when I was wrapping you in like a burrito, I felt this.. incredible feeling of warmth wash over me, and I realized I'm stupidly, undeniably in love with you, that it wasn’t mere desire. Your absolutely ridiculous red nose was the dearest thing to me in the entire world, and when you licked your lips and looked up at me, all soft and in awe just because I'd given you a blanket? God, I just couldn't help myself. And I think you know the rest."

"I love that, Armie,” Timmy says with a soft smile. “What did it feel like, kissing me?"

"Do you want the cheesy version or the stereotypically manly one?"

"I'm French.”

“Which means that–“

“I always want the cheesy version.”

"When I kissed you, I realized I never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again."

" _Oh._ That’s lovely,” Timmy closes his eyes, rests his head against Armie’s shoulder. “I just wish it had been that easy," he adds with a sigh.

"But we're here now."

"We're here now," Timmy repeats, squeezes Armie’s hand.

"What did it feel like to you?"

"Like you were kissing my soul.”

“God, that _is_ cheesy.”

“Hey! Rude,” Timmy chuckles and punches Armie in the shoulder, then proceeds to kiss it better. “What did I say about making fun of sincere, beautiful things that come straight from our hearts?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Armie whispers, places a kiss on Timmy’s cheek, then his temple. “You know that’s not how I was raised. I’m trying to do better.”

“And you’re doing so well, Armie. I’m so proud.”

They sit in silence for a bit, limbs tangled and pliant, listening to the birds chirping in the distance.

“I’m sorry your parents didn’t come to the wedding,” Timmy says after a while, rubbing tiny circles onto Armie’s wrist with his fingers, pressing on delicate skin.

“It’s alright,” Armie replies, but his jaw is tense, his whole body feels tense against Timmy’s.

“It’s not. You’re so much more than they see in you, and you deserve so much more from them.”

“Well, as long as I’ll have you, I’m happy.”

“Then you’re gonna be alright.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” Timmy nods, then smiles and points up at the sky. “Armie, don’t you see? We found the stars, you and I.”

***

Two weeks pass in a heartbeat. It feels like home, Armie thinks, being in the villa with the love of _his_ life, _this time_. They swim in the lake, ride bikes to Crema and other nearby towns and villages, wine and dine in the moonlight, even take naps in broad daylight. It’s everything he never knew he wanted, not before Timmy, but it’s everything he ever needed.

While some of it still feels like the past, as if it already happened once, in a previous lifetime or an alternate reality, none of the memories can compare. _This time_ , they don’t have an expiration date – their love won’t be a mosaic comprised of fleeting moments, glue between the pieces cruelly dissolving with the passing of each minute, hour, day, until there’s nothing left, save for remnants of a dream that never truly was, never truly could be. No, _this time_ they don’t have an expiration date, not even a Best Before.

“Did you take the wine?” Timmy asks, dragging a suitcase twice his size down the narrow staircase. “The really good red one?”

“Timmy,” Armie’s voice carries from the kitchen downstairs, offended, “when have I ever forgotten the wine? Or any type of alcohol? Ever?”

“Ahh, yeah, fair,” Timmy chuckles breathlessly just as Armie rounds the corner.

“God, why are you carrying that?! I told you I’d bring the suitcases down. You’re a _twig_ , baby, _an actual twig_ , and twigs don’t lift heavy suitcases.”

“Hey,” Timmy pouts, “I’ll have you know that I’m–“

Timmy yelps as his foot catches on a stair; he lets go of the suitcase and, with horror evident on his face, watches it plummet downward before landing at Armie’s feet with a loud thud.

“– not only a twig but also a klutz?” Armie finishes weakly, grabs Timmy’s arm to hold him still. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay, I’m okay.”

“Good, that’s good.”

As Timmy’s breathing calms down, Armie asks, “You know what was in that suitcase, right?” Timmy shakes his head before stopping mid-movement, eyes almost popping out of their sockets as realisation hits him, “Oh god, don’t tell me it was the –“

“The wine, yeah.”

Timmy makes a soft sound and buries his face in Armie’s neck.

*

Turns out the wine bottles didn’t break.

“Dionysus was clearly on our side,” Armie chuckles, lifting the suitcases into their rental car. “Figures – I’m obviously the guy’s biggest fan.”

Timmy nods eagerly, lower lip caught between his teeth; he’s standing far away from the suitcases, holding a tiny bag filled with fresh pastries as that’s all he’s been trusted with for the time being.

Once done, Armie closes the trunk. “That’s it, I guess.” With hands on his hips, he turns to look back at the villa. “I’m gonna miss this place.”

Suddenly a thin arm is sneaking around his waist, a soft cheek pressing against his shoulder. “We can always come back.”

“We could, but,” Armie sighs, “maybe it’s time we said goodbye? Moved on to making new memories, just us two.”

“I’d like that.”

“Me too,” Armie smiles at him, squeezes his shoulder. “We need to get going if we want to make our flight, though.”

“Wait, let me just,” Timmy shuffles through his pockets before pulling out his phone. “Let’s take one more picture.”

He turns on the selfie camera and angles the phone so that both of their faces are looking back from the screen. Even a small part of the villa makes it into the frame.

“Smile,” Timmy says and puts on his own widest one, with eyes hooded, cheekbones high, curls tousled in the wind and flying all over Armie’s face. Armie’s smiling too, towering above Timmy, soft and still _stupidly in love_ , he realizes looking at the screen.

He doesn’t have the best track record with recognising his own happiness, but this time, seeing it staring right back at him, he finally knows. If _this_ isn’t happiness, he doesn’t know what is.

*

They make themselves comfortable in the back of the car.

“All'aeroporto, per favore,” Armie says to the driver.

“Bergamo?”

“Sì.”

As they start moving, Timmy turns his head to look back at the villa once more, quiet and wistful. He runs his fingers over the foggy window of the car and whispers, “Bye, Elio. Bye, Oliver. Thank you.”

His voice sounds wet, so Armie pulls Timmy into him, lets him rest his curly-haired head against Armie's shoulder, kisses his forehead.

_"What a goose.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Your feedback means the world to me and @call_me_by_charmie. :)
> 
> P.S. You can find me on tumblr @workslikeacharmie.


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